"How can he have a job? He sleeps all day," Uhura said, filing her nails at the kitchen table.
She was speaking to Spock, who was currently cooking a tempeh and okra sandwich for lunch and looking mildly nauseated at the nail dust gathering on the tablecloth. It was a Saturday in June, so Kirk was out at work, giving the tourists a narrated history of the lake while they searched with binoculars and semi-delusional minds for the local lake monster--"Champ." Scotty was on the couch in the living room, watching Samurai Jack and drinking his way through a six-pack for lunch. Chekov and Bones were asleep in their rooms.
"Nevertheless, he is still contributing to the financial stability of the household."
"Barely. There wasn't much left after his shopping sprees at Neiman Marcus."
"He said he needed formal wear for his job," Scotty called from the living room.
"Which brings us back to the initial question of where our young Mr. Chekov is currently employed." Spock was now delicately consuming his unique sandwich, and it was Uhura's turn to look nauseated. She would take a hamburger and fries any day over whatever that slimy looking brown stuff was dripping out of Spock's sandwich. But she was on a diet and drank only a Slim-fast for lunch. This twenty-first century food was quite fattening, and she needed to keep her figure in order to keep her job at Hooters.
A belch signaled Scotty's entrance as he shambled into the kitchen after his beer belly and sat at the table. Uhura found a new reason to feel nauseated.
The phone picked that minute to ring and everyone turned to look at her.
"What? Answer it yourselves! I'm NOT the commmunications officer anymore!" Uhura huffed, and went back to filing her nails. Spock raised an eyebrow and Scotty just shrugged, but neither of them got up to answer the phone either.
"DAMMIT!" McCoy shouted from down the hall. "Some of us work night shifts! Turn off the damn ringer if you don't want to answer!" There was the sound of a door slamming and the volume of a radio playing the easy listening station going up a notch. Again there was a raised eyebrow from Spock, a shrug from Scotty, and a challenging look from Uhura, but still the ringer kept after it.
Chekov finally shuffled into the room looking rumpled and a little bit bruised, walked over to the phone and picked it up, then quickly slammed it down again. Through sleepy, half lidded eyes he glared at the others.
"Vy don't you all get cellphones, like me? Den ve don't have to worry about the damn ringer." He spat something in Russian and went to the cabinet for the box of Count Chocula cereal and a bowl. Uhura noticed a bruise peaking out from under the collar of his nightshirt.
"Pavel, what is that?" She peered closer at the colorful mark, pointing a manicured finger at the base of his neck. Chekov's hand came up quickly to slap Uhura away and cover the mark.
"Eet is nothing, get away from me!" He looked at her crossly and kept eating his cereal. She snorted and walked away.
It was Spock's turn to irritate the late riser.
"Mister Chekov, would it not be more logical to eat a breakfast with some nutritional value?"
"No. "
"But--"
"--Can the hippie crap, Meester Spock. You have been working at that health food store for too long--it has infected your brain. Count Chocula is fortified with seven essential witamins and nutrients. It says so right on the box!" Chekov angrily scooped more cereal into his mouth. Spock merely sighed in exasperation and picked up his dishes to put them in the sink. He looked at the clock.
"Our captain should be home in one point three hours."
Chekov decided he wasn't done being annoyed at Spock.
"He is not our captain anymore Meester Spock. Don't you think that, after three years, it would be 'logical' to stop calling him 'Captain?' He will not be our captain for another two hundred years."
"Incorrect again, Mister Chekov. He will not be our captain for another two hundred thirty-three years, six months, and five days."
There followed an awkward silence in which Spock and Chekov glared at each other from across the table, with Chekov holding his spoon in a menacing gesture. Scotty and Uhura tried to clear the air by standing up from the table and announcing their plans for the afternoon.
"I think I'll go to the library and check out a few books...." She was currently on an arts and crafts kick, and there could be found several awkward attempts at decoupage, origami, and crochet strewn about the house (Spock was convinced her extravagant fingernails were the reason she was unable to make anything with any reasonable competence).
"I was about to order a meatlovers pizza from Domino's...." Scotty chimed in.
At that, Spock broke the staring contest with Chekov to give Scotty a look of utter disgust. Uhura and Scotty visibly relaxed and Chekov went back to silently munching his now soggy cereal.
When Kirk returned from work that afternoon, Uhura was still out, Scotty was on the couch watching "Law and Order" in a post-pizza haze, and Spock was still in the kitchen, doing dishes. Chekov was nowhere to be found, and Bones had yet to emerge from his room to face the day, though a suspicious waft of smoke was seeping through the cracks in the crooked door frame and the guitar licks of Jimi Hendrix could be heard beneath the blare of Scotty's TV commercials. Kirk wandered into the kitchen to question Spock.
"What's going on? Where are Uhura and Chekov? And what the hell is that smell?" Kirk flopped into a chair at the table. Spock dried his hands on a towel and tossed his hair over his shoulder. He sat down gracefully next to Kirk at the table.
"To answer your questions: I am doing dishes, Scotty is becoming what you earthmen colloquially refer to as a vegetable, and Doctor McCoy is listening to some sort of nonsensical guitar music in his room, as far as I can tell. Uhura claimed to be going to the library, Chekov simply left without explanation, and 'that smell' is either Scotty's leftover meatlover's pizza or whatever it is that the Doctor is burning in his room."
"Burning? What would he be burning?"
"I do not know."
"Well let's go have a look and a little talk with the good doctor. That smell is getting to me." Kirk stood up from the chair and Spock reluctantly followed. They went down the narrow hallway, past their shared room, to the door shaking with the beat of the strange music. Kirk knocked, waited, and then opened the door when no response was forthcoming.
They were greeted by a wall of pungent smoke and loud music. Kirk coughed and Spock waved his hand in front of his face to clear the air. They took a step into the darkened room.
"Bones?"
"Heya, Jimboy! C'mon in, Spocko! See what one of the boys at work gave me." McCoy was acting suspiciously good humored. They took another step in, and McCoy got up to shut the door behind them. Spock looked dubiously at the burning roll of paper that was held out to them, but Kirk took a hold of it.
"What is it?" Kirk held it away from his face.
"Why, I don't rightly know! But the youngin' that handed it to me called it somethin'....I don't remember...." McCoy trailed off for a minute, then refocused and gestured to Kirk. "Take it! Hold it to your mouth and inhale, it's a relaxant."
Kirk tried to do as he said and coughed and sputtered out a cloud of smoke. He handed it to Spock.
"Try it, Spock."
Spock continued to look dubious, but did not want to disobey his commanding officer, and took a drag, then another.
"Indeed! It is rather pleasant." Spock took one more drag and handed it back to Kirk. Kirk inhaled more successfully the second time, and passed it back to Bones.
Two hours later, the same Jimi Hendrix CD was still playing, and Kirk, Spock and McCoy were all laying on the floor of McCoy's room. McCoy was babbling incoherently, Kirk was giggling, and Spock was finding new meaning in the lyrics to "Hey Joe." Suddenly McCoy sat bolt upright.
"I remember!"
Spock glanced over at McCoy briefly, but did not get up. He was now captivated by a glowing aura that seemed to be radiating from Kirk's head. It was very pretty, especially from this angle on the floor.
"What is it Bones?" Kirk said as he watched his fingers moving in front of his face.
McCoy looked excessively proud of himself.
"He called it 'medicinal marijuana'!"
Spock sat up.
"Marijuana? You mean we are--how is it put.....high? Intoxicated? Vulcans do not get high. But I am high. I am a Vulcan. No. I am half Vulcan. My human half is high. Jim?" Spock lost his grasp on linear thought and instead just groped for Kirk. He needed some reassurance. Kirk pat him on the head affectionately and he slumped back onto the floor, confused but somewhat sedated. McCoy just snorted at the stupified Vulcan.
"Marijuana, you say?" Kirk kept his hand on Spock's head. "Never heard of it, but I think I could get to like it. You can get it at the hospital?"
A few hours later, Kirk was laying back on his bed in the room he shared with Spock, experiencing for the first time the concept of "coming down." He was finishing off his third bag of potato chips, and there was an untidy trail of greasy crumbs down the front of his shirt, which he absentmindedly brushed at. He looked over to where Spock was curled up on his own bed, occasionally scratching an itch on his leg, or arm, or face. The Vulcan looked dazed and miserable.
"What's up, Spock?"
"Huh?" Spock moved his head fractionally so he could face Kirk. "Apparently, my Vulcan half is allergic to this medicinal marijuana. I am experiencing some discomfort." He scratched at the greenish bump on his forearm.
"Are those hives?"
"No, they are lesions. I have the bubonic plague." Spock sounded annoyed and sarcastic. "Yes, they are hives. Now please, let me scratch in peace."
Kirk harrumphed.
"Apparently they are grumpy-bumps. I've never seen you in such a snit."
Spock brought his head up sharply and gave Kirk an indignant look.
"Vulcans do not have 'snits,' Jim."
"Oh, well, whatever. If you say so." Kirk rolled his eyes. He didn't have the patience right then for his roommate's tantrum. He really felt like watching a movie, preferably one with a lot of scantily clad women running around. Perhaps he would go rent "Charlie's Angels" or something. He decided to wander into the kitchen and see if there was still a slice of Scotty's meatlover's pizza. He reasoned that he could grab it if Mr. Scott had passed out in front of the television already.
The next morning, Kirk woke up to Spock, meditating in the corner of their room on small cushion. Spock turned as Kirk sat up and cleared his throat.
"I apologize for my behavior last night, Captain. I was not myself." There were still some greenish marks on Spock's face that marred his usually clear olive complexion. Kirk, however, was feeling unusually cranky and only mumbled in reply. He felt sluggish and hazy, and needed very badly about five cups of coffee. He narrowed his eyes at Spock.
"Haven't I told you to stop calling me Captain? People used to give us the weirdest looks when you did that. Please--it's just Jim now. Why can't you get that through your head?" He stood up and stretched, then pulled on a pair of trousers. Spock looked momentarily nonplussed, then huffily turned back towards the wall, muttering "Yes, Jim." Kirk instantly felt bad, but since he didn't feel like addressing the back of Spock's head, he just rubbed some Right Guard under his arms and shuffled out towards the kitchen.
He heard the now familiar sound of Scotty snoring on the couch. Nominally, Scotty shared a room with Chekov, but he hadn't actually slept in the room since the week they'd bought a television. The couch facing the TV was littered with Scotty's belongings, mostly dirty clothes, and had acquired a smell that prevented anyone else from sitting on it even when Scotty was away, cementing the piece of furniture into the role of "Scotty's couch." It didn't bother Kirk, since he and Spock had a television set in their room, and Uhura just watched the morning soaps from the chair by the coffee table, turning up the volume to drown out Scotty's snores.
It was a Sunday morning, and Chekov was still missing in action, but Kirk didn't really give it more than a moment's thought. Perhaps Chekov had been out at the bars and had just passed out somewhere. It wouldn't be the first time for any of them. Maybe it was the stress of assimilating into a new, more primitive culture, or going from being galactic heroes to wage workers in a nowhere city in New England, but the amount of alcohol consumed by the house had reached alarming levels. Even Spock had acquired a taste for alcohol, although his tolerance was so low that most of the rest of the household hid the bottles, or at least the breakables, whenever he got into a mood for the stuff.
In fact, their fridge was mostly full of half-empty cases of Budweiser, a bottle of cheap wine, and some Five O'Clock vodka that must have been Chekov's. Kirk shuddered at the thought. Five O'Clock was the cheapest vodka one could get, and nobody drank it besides Chekov and the home-bums that collected cans for the redemption centers and slept by the waterfront. As Kirk looked in the refrigerator, he noted one more distressing fact: besides the bottles, there was only a jar of mustard, the dregs of a carton of 1% milk, some moldy bread, and one of Spock's tupperware containers of leftover stirfry to be found for potential breakfast items.
"Dammit," he exclaimed, and slammed the door. Two of the girly magnets gracing the front fell off and landed on the floor with a dull thud. Kirk left them there and called down the hall. "Who the hell finished off the eggs and the milk? What's a man supposed to eat for breakfast around here?!" Nobody deigned to answer him, and he grumpily made his coffee and drank it black, all five cups of it.
Eventually Spock came into the kitchen and sat down with Kirk at the table.
"Why did you not eat the leftover stir-fry I put in the fridge? It was labeled for general consumption..."
Kirk shuddered at the thought and gave his friend a look.
"Spock, you may be my best friend, but that does not mean I have to eat your cooking." He gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up. "I'll just grab a croissant at the deli on my way to work.
"Jim, you know that a croissant does not constitute a healthy breakfast. It is all butter and white flour," Spock chided.
"No, I eat the almond ones. There's uh, protein in them."
"The almonds are ground into a paste and mixed with white sugar. It is still not a balanced meal." Spock's hands were folded on the table and he had that stubborn look that Kirk knew meant he would not let it go. He decided to duck out of the confrontation and tell Spock what he wanted to hear, otherwise he knew he'd never get out of the house in time to get any breakfast at all.
"Okay, you win. I'll get a granola bar and some fruit salad. Happy?" Kirk crossed his fingers behind his back, still intending to get a croissant. Spock sighed.
"That term is not relevant to Vulcans."
"Oh. Well, I gotta go. See you tonight?" He put a hand on Spock's shoulder and squeezed affectionately, then headed out the door. Spock rolled his eyes, psychically receiving from the brief physical contact the knowledge that Kirk was lying to him. He never seemed to remember that Vulcans were touch-telepaths.
(Stay tuned for the next exciting episode and find out: Where does Chekov go all night? What does Kirk do on his days off? Where did Bones get that dank weed? and Why is Scotty so disgusting?)
